


All is Calm, All is Bright (All I Want is You Tonight)

by captaincharming



Series: My Problem is You [4]
Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Angst, It was supposed to be short and cute, M/M, Which is unusual for me, but good times too, but i'm incapable of that, it's so long i'm sorry, probably more good times than angst, the after-christmas christmas fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 01:13:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13225101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captaincharming/pseuds/captaincharming
Summary: “What about us?”Joseph pauses, pulling back to meet Robert’s half-shuttered gaze. “What about us?” he parrots, looking genuinely confused.“You didn’t think maybe I’d want to see you on Christmas?”Joseph’s confusion only grows, pulling his stylized eyebrows down into a frown. “I have to be with my family on Christmas, Rob. My family’s going to be in Connecticut.”Robert could hit him, he really could. “And what am I, then?”





	All is Calm, All is Bright (All I Want is You Tonight)

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be up on christmas, but i suck, so happy new year!! this fits in sometime after "i just need one". it's completely unedited, so tread lightly. title and lyrics from the maine's "12.25". thanks for reading!

_All is calm, all is bright_

_And all I want is you tonight_

_Twelve twenty-five_

 

“So you’re not coming down this year?” Robert tries to sound neutral, cool and collected like he’s always been. Val makes an affirmative noise on the other end of the line, repeating the same line about work and Jenna’s family and the prediction of, in her words, a ‘shit ton of snow’. “Gotcha, no problem,” Robert interrupts, really not needing to hear it again.

Val sighs, heavy and familiar. Robert helped her perfect that sigh at a very young age. He certainly gave her cause enough to practice it. “Look, Dad, I’d be there if I could. You know I’m glad we’re...working things out. But logistically, it just doesn’t make sense this year.”

“Hey kid, I set the precedent for missed holidays. I get it.” Robert gives a forced chuckle. “No hard feelings.”

“Dad…”

Robert wedges the phone between his ear and shoulder, freeing his hands to return to his whittling. He was making something for Val and her girlfriend for Christmas, but he’s going to need to put a rush on it now that he knows he’ll need to mail it rather than deliver it in person. “I’m telling you, it’s fine. I was never big on holidays, anyhow. I’ll kick it alone next week, and we’ll get together soon.”

Val laughs, the same smoky chuckle she’s had since she was a kid. It sounds a lot more appropriate in her adult tone, but Robert still misses hearing that deep voice coming out of a four year old. “It’s not like you’re going to be alone. You’ve got your _man_ now.” She frowns, something Robert can somehow hear through the phone. “Now I’m bummed. I was totally looking forward to interrogating the shit out of him. You better bring him along when you come visit.”

“And let you scare him off?” Robert laughs, narrowly avoiding nicking his thumb with his knife. “Not a chance. It took me long enough to land him as it is. He’s got too many kids for impromptu trips to the city, anyway.”

“I can’t believe you’re banging someone with a passel of kids,” Val teases, far away now like she’s got him on speaker. Robert can hear the clack of computer keys. She never could stay focused on one thing at a time for very long. “You realize you’re signing yourself back up for those god awful, hectic, chaotic Christmases full of toy assemblage and refereeing?”

Robert does realize this. The thought originally terrified him, then kind of excited him, then haunted him, now that Christmas is less than a week away and Joseph has yet to set any kind of plans for them. “Joseph is like superdad. He handles any crisis before it even starts. Besides,” Robert continues, cautiously causal, “I’m not sure I’ll be seeing them on Christmas.”

The typing stops, Val gone suspiciously quiet on the other end of the line. Robert rolls his eyes, ready for the third degree. He can’t believe he raised a lawyer. Like he hasn’t had enough haranguing for a lifetime.

“What do you mean you’re ‘not sure’?” she says, in her best prosecutor voice. “You’ve been dating the guy for months. You’ve been in love with the guy for _years_.” Val pauses, suspicion creeping in. “Are you getting cold feet about this relationship? Because you need to get over your fricking fear of commitment. You’re crazy about this guy, remember? You’re _happy_ , like actually, genuinely, patching-things-up-with-your-daughter, making amends happy. If you’re even thinking about bailing on this, Dad, I swear to God…”

“Would you cut it out?” Robert interjects when she pauses for effect. “I’m not bailing on anything. Joe is...the whole situation with the kids and his wife...it’s just messy. They don’t have a custody agreement worked out yet.” Robert sighs, an echo of Val’s. “He hasn’t mentioned Christmas, okay? I’m sure they’re trying to iron things out.” _And it’d be nice if Joseph would tell me about what’s going on his life but, hey, who am I?_

It’s still a struggle, trying to get Joseph to understand that Robert doesn’t care if he unloads his baggage on him. Joseph only tells him shiny, happy things. But they aren’t shiny, happy people, and theirs isn’t a shiny, happy situation. Robert just can’t seem to make Joseph see that as anything other than a failure on his part.

“Does he need a lawyer? I can’t practice there, obviously, but I could give him a killer referral.”

“He’s good, thanks. They’re not like, fighting. They’re just tryin’ not to fuck up their kids too much.”

Val makes a reluctantly approving sound. Robert cracks a smile, sharing the sentiment. He wishes they’d just figure their shit out already. The situation is….strange. Mary was the one to move out, even when Joseph insisted it should be him. Even when Robert had kind of been counting on Joseph just moving right on over to his place. It seemed like the ideal setup to Robert. It would basically be like never moving at all. But Mary insisted she didn’t want the house, was eager to find a place more her speed, wanted a clean break from anything she and Joseph had shared. Other than the kids.

With Joseph in the big house and Mary in a temporary apartment situation, it only made sense that Joseph have the kids the majority of the time. And there’s no bigger game killer than a pack of nosey, light-sleeping kids. Robert has yet to spend an entire night in Joseph’s house. It’s not ideal. The first time Robert had tried to bring up breaking the news of their relationship to the kids, Joseph had shut down faster than Robert’s truck when he leaves it idling too long. Kids spill the beans, he’d said. Once they know, everyone knows, he’d said. Robert hadn’t really seen the problem with that. But there is one, apparently, and it’s something Joseph is unwilling or unable to deal with right now. The kids are starting to figure it out, but as long as they don’t explicitly tell them, Robert knows Joseph could correct anyone they tell and call it plausible deniability. He’s real good about manipulating things around until they aren’t technically a lie.

So Robert waits.

“Just...make sure you’re looking out for yourself here too, okay? Like I get wanting to make sure the kids are happy, but you’ve gotta be happy too, Dad.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Robert croons sarcastically, laughing when Val makes an offended noise. “When have you ever not known me to look out for number one, honey?”

Val repeats his laugh, though it’s just ever so slightly bitter. “Ain’t that the truth.”

They close the call a few minutes later, after the typical end of conversation small talk. Robert can tolerate it when it’s his kid. Anyone else, he leaves the talking to Joseph. The guy’s made a career out of small talk.

Speaking of, Robert checks his watch, pleased to see his call with Val killed nearly an hour. Joseph’s probably wrapping up Sunday evening services by now, which means it won’t be long before Mary discreetly wrangles the kids away for one of their outings, and Joseph’s made his way over to Robert’s for a precious few hours. Until Mary brings the kids back, full of fast food dinners and endless stories about Wicket’s latest shenanigans, and Robert has to surrender their dad back over to them. The joys of co-parenting.

The church was another hurdle to their relational bliss. The powers that be had decided that until Joseph and Mary’s divorce was final, Joseph could continue to hold his position in the church. Robert would never outright accuse Joseph of dragging his feet on divorce proceedings in order to keep doing the work he loves, but the thought has crossed his mind. Multiple times in the last six months.

“Robbie?” Joseph calls from downstairs, startling Robert away from his train of thought, whittling falling from his slack hands.

“Comin’, baby,” Robert calls back, dusting wood shavings and chips off himself to join the piles littering the floor of his office. Between the drafting and the whittling, the place is in perpetual chaos. Robert closes the door behind him, warding off Joseph’s inevitable lecture if he catches sight of it.

Joseph is lingering in the doorway between the hall and the living room when Robert reaches the bottom of the stairs, his back to Robert, fiddling with something in his hands. He’s ditched his robes and stole, but he’s still dressed in all black, save for the hint of white Robert can see peeking out from under the collar of his button down. He reaches suddenly for the peak of the archway, shirt threatening to pull free from his waistband. Robert’s too distracted by the stretch of his long arms and back to pay attention to whatever it is Joseph is trying to do, stepping forward to slip his arms around the minister’s solid waist.

“Whatcha doin’?” Robert asks lowly, fruitlessly trying to nudge Joseph’s high collar aside with his nose. Joseph drops his arms to grip the ones Robert has wrapped around him.

“How holiday illiterate are you to not know what mistletoe is?” Joseph teases, gesturing with his chin at the little sprig he’d taped to the archway.

Robert smiles slowly, squeezing Joseph briefly. “Any particular reason you’re bringing plant life into my barren wasteland?”

“You can’t kill this one,” Joseph laughs, looking sadly toward the wilted ficus by the door. “The only thing you need to do with it is kiss me under it. Preferably now.”

He leans in as Robert leans up, always anticipating getting his way.

“Bossy, bossy,” Robert says against Joseph’s mouth, employing all his seductive prowess to maintain the kiss as he turns Joseph around in his arms. Joseph has his eyes closed sweetly, blond lashes almost dark against his pale skin. His perfect, pert lips are softer than they have any right to be in the midst of the icebox they call a hometown. Robert knows his own are like brillo pads by comparison.

Robert goes to cup his jaw, turn him into the kiss a little more, but his fingers catch on the stiff texture of Joseph’s clergy collar, and Robert pulls away with a frown.

“What?” Joseph asks, brushing their noses together, breath smelling distinctively of peppermint. He eats more candy canes than a man his age has any excuse to.

“I can’t kiss you with that thing on,” Robert complains, tapping a finger against Joseph’s throat. “Makes me feel dirty.”

Joseph smiles, a little nasty in a way not many people get to see. Well, in a way hopefully no one except Robert gets to see, now. “I thought you liked feeling dirty?” He punctuates the question with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips.

Robert shakes his head, unwilling to bend on this. “Not this kinda dirty, sweetheart. This is bad dirty. S’like making out with my crotchety old principal.” Robert shudders theatrically. “No one finds Mr. Hoskins sexy.”

Joseph rolls his eyes, stepping away to pull the offending article free, fighting briefly with the top buttons of his dress shirt. Robert’s mouth is practically watering at the sight of his long fingers against his longer throat. Joseph raises an eyebrow pointedly at Robert as he drops the white collar to the floor.

“Better?” he asks, sarcastic lilt to his voice.

“Mm, much,” Robert agrees, leaning in to kiss him at the base of his throat. Joseph rolls his eyes again, moving farther out of Robert’s reach rather than back into it.

“Did you pick up anything for dinner?” Joseph asks instead, drifting off toward the kitchen.

“Chinese,” Robert answers, bemused, watching Joseph step out of his shoes and socks as he goes, still fussing with the buttons at his neck. Robert trails along after him, picking his way around Joseph’s abandoned wardrobe, now including his heavily starched, black button down.

Joseph’s sitting on the counter, barefoot in his undershirt when Robert walks in. He’s already opened several food containers, chopsticks in one hand, chow mein in the other. Robert has to close his eyes for a moment, just at the sight.

“I love you,” Robert tells him, unprompted, words spilling free of their own accord. Joseph makes him reckless.

Joseph smiles around a mouthful of chicken, spreading his legs accommodatingly when Robert draws near, offering him the noodles caught in his chopsticks. Robert accepts them, leaning in to bury his face in Joseph’s stomach, hands splayed on his thighs. Joseph hums happily, surreptitiously sucking in his slight gut, undoubtedly the result of his congregations’ holiday cookie plates. Robert hides a smile in the soft fabric of his shirt, letting Joseph rake his chopstick-free hand through his hair.

It’s quiet for a spell, save for the sound of Joseph’s chewing. Robert knows he should ask about services, about the kids, about anything, but all he really wants to ask about is Christmas. It’s been eating at him, subtly for a while, but more intensely since he and Val hung up.

The thing is….the thing _is_ is that Robert is always waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the ground to fall out from underneath him, for Joseph to wake up one day and realize what he’s throwing away for Robert. And Robert thinks that he’s already feeling the cost, shying away from the consequences as long as he can. Robert’s just crossing his fingers he doesn’t go too far.

“So I talked to Val today,” Robert says eventually, when the silence has stretched into just this side of awkward. He keeps his face pressed to Joseph’s middle, fingers picking mindlessly at the seams of his slacks. Joseph makes a noise of interest, thumb rubbing firm circles into the sudden knot of tension at the base of Robert’s skull. “She’s, uh, they’re not gonna make it down for Christmas this year.”

“Oh honey, I’m sorry,” Joseph says sincerely, tugging Robert’s hair a little, in a comforting sort of gesture. “I know you were looking forward to seeing them.” He even sets the container of rice aside to give Robert his full attention, tracing the shells of his ears in light, sweeping touches.

Robert tips his head back, finding Joseph’s sympathetic eyes. “I think we were both looking forward to grilling each other’s new partners,” he tries to joke, and while Joseph smiles, something flits over his face like a shadow, gone before Robert’s really sure it was there.

“Did she-,” Joseph pauses to clear his throat, a soft little noise in the relative quiet of Robert’s kitchen, “did she say why?”

Robert shrugs delicately, standing back up to his full height. He feels a little stiff from having spent so long at a hunch, rolling his shoulders as Joseph’s hands fall away from his hair. Joseph reaches for the kung pao next, offering it to Robert. Robert shakes his head, watching Joseph pick up his chopsticks again. “Work, Jen’s family, snow. It was just too hard to squeeze in.” Joseph nods understandingly, and Robert just keeps watching him, choosing his next words more carefully than usual. “I’m supposed to go up there sometime after the new year. Supposed to take you, too.”

Joseph laughs, wrinkling his nose. “And meet your terrifying, whip smart, caustic, mini-me of a daughter on _her_ turf?” He laughs again, like the idea is ridiculous. Robert narrows his eyes, eventually deciding to let it go. He’s the one who used those descriptors in the first place. Joseph only knows what Robert’s told him about Val.

“What about you?” Robert changes the subject instead of pushing it. There are more pressing issues at hand.

“What _about_ me?” Joseph repeats, through a mouthful of food. Did the kid not eat today?

Robert rubs his hands up Joseph’s thighs, thumbs digging in at the crease. “Christmas, Joe. What are you doing for Christmas?” he clarifies when Joseph’s eyes go a little glassy at his touch. _What are_ we _doing for Christmas?_

“Oh,” Joseph says, still a little touch-dumb, eyes trained on the motion of Robert’s hands. “Mary is taking the kids up to her parents’ on Saturday. I have to preach both services Sunday, so I’ll head up after evening communion.” He waves a chopstick around, getting sauce on the counter. Getting _more_ sauce on the counter, really. Robert doesn’t clean too often. “We’re doing one of those candlelight services for Christmas Eve.” His eyes shine a little, clearly excited at the prospect. Robert is still stuck on the sentence before.

“What do you mean, you’ll ‘head up’ after night church?” Robert asks, already regretting it before Joseph answers.

“Um,” Joseph says, eloquent as ever. “Well, I don’t really want to miss all of Christmas Eve, you know?” He smiles again, this one tinged with uncertainty.

Robert shakes his head, unwilling to let Joseph be deliberately obtuse. “How are you just going to show up at your ex-wife’s parents’ house on Christmas Eve and expect to be let in?”

Joseph drops his gaze, suddenly very interested in picking the peanuts out of his chicken and dropping them in the sink. Robert allows him five before he prompts him again.

“Joe….”

“She’s not technically my ex-wife yet,” Joseph mumbles, losing control of his latest catch. The peanut goes skittering across the floor, right past Robert’s foot, but he pays it no mind. Betsy will find it eventually.

“That technicality is enough to get you invited?”

Joseph studiously avoids his gaze, still picking through dinner. Robert snatches the container before he can react, setting it a safe distance away on the counter. He happens to like the peanuts.

Joseph lets out a long-suffering sigh, dragging a hand over his face before folding both in his lap and fixing Robert with a guilty look. “They might….not know that, um, well that we aren’t….that we’re not going to -“

“Oh my god,” Robert says, cutting Joseph’s stuttering confession off. “They don’t know you split up?!” It’s been six, _long_ months. Six months of guarding their situation from the greater public, carefully handpicking who they confide in, waiting until things are ‘settled’ before they make any kind of announcement. But Robert thought, at the very least, they were telling family. This is all starting to feel like déjà vu, like Robert is still Joseph’s dirty little fucking secret. If he can’t even-

“Of course they _know_ ,” Joseph rushes to say, interrupting Robert’s inner diatribe. “They just….might be under the impression that we’re, I don’t know, working on it?”

“You askin’ me or tellin’ me?” Robert bites out, crossing his arms over his chest and stepping back. He wishes Joseph would get down from the damn counter. He’s too tall as it is.

Joseph fidgets a little, but he doesn’t get down. “They think we’re working on it,” he confirms, speaking up when Robert opens his mouth again. “It’s just for the holidays, Rob. Until we have a custody agreement, I need to be able to see my kids on the holidays.” He turns his trademark imploring gaze on Robert, the one that’s convinced him to go along with anything Joseph’s asked for in the last half year. “We’re going to tell them.”

“Eventually,” Robert finishes for him. He’s heard the speech so many times, he could recite it from memory. He could sing it, sign it, do an interpretive dance to it. He turns away, unsure how to be mad at someone who can look so damn genuine and forlorn, but feeling the anger licking just under his skin all the same.

He can feel Joseph’s eyes on him as he stands at the sink, halfheartedly scrubbing at some of the dishes piled in there. Robert knows he’s working out what he wants to say, always so deliberate in his word choice. He has to be, with a congregation of judgy old people hanging on his every word, waiting for some slip up or another to nail him on. But Robert wishes that sometimes, Joseph would drop his guard, especially when it’s just the two of them. Forget the facade and the forced cheer and just be _real_ for a minute. Sometimes the proximity to Joseph’s perpetual perfection makes Robert feel about two foot small by comparison.

“Rob,” Joseph starts, in that patient, simpering, pastoral tone of his. Robert squeezes the sponge in his hand until it tears. “Tell me what you’re upset about.”

“I think it should be pretty obvious, Joe.”

Joseph slides off the counter, landing softly and padding over on bare feet to stand next to Robert at the sink, leaning on one elbow to come into Robert’s line of sight. “You’re mad Mary’s parents don’t know?”

“I’m mad that fucking no one knows, Joseph,” Robert says, running the water hotter than is strictly necessary. It burns his hands. Joseph reaches over to turn on the cold tap, bumping his hip into Robert’s in a kind of reprimand.

“You know,” he says benignly, resting a hand at the small of Robert’s back. “I know. Our kids know, basically. Who else is there?”

“Stop,” Robert snaps, bracing his hands on the counter and dropping his head. “Don’t fucking patronize me. You’re still presenting yourself to the world as a married man. You’re still letting people assume you’re the person you pretend to be.” Robert shakes his head, shoulders bunched up near his ears. “I’m not interested in separate public and private lives, Joseph. You’re either with me or you’re not. If you are, fucking act like it. And if you’re not, then…” Robert stops before he says something he can’t take back.

Joseph takes his hand away, turning to rest his back against the counter. “What is it about your kitchen that always has us having this fight?”

Robert laughs despite himself, turning around to mirror Joseph’s posture. “It’s a sad, lonely little room. It’s trying to drag us down to its level.”

Joseph gives him a little smile, not nearly as tense as Robert feels. He never is, it seems. He’s perfectly happy to keep going as they are. And Robert feels….

Stupid, is what he feels, when Joseph leans over to kiss him, soft and reassuring. Stupid because this always works, stupid because he knows Joseph knows exactly what he’s doing. Stupid because he’s going to let Joseph keep doing what he’s doing, instead of pushing the envelope on this argument.

“I’ll only be gone a day, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Joseph promises, more warm breath than noise. He presses a firm kiss to the corner of Robert’s mouth, dragging the tip of his nose through the stubble at his jawline, nosing in behind his ear and just staying there.

“It’s not that, and you know it,” Robert argues, but there’s no real venom to his tone. “I mean, I guess it is a little that, too, but it’s not entirely that.”

“Then what else is it?” Joseph murmurs, lips moving against Robert’s neck. One of his hands has found its way to the opposite side of Robert’s throat, holding him close as he works a bruise into the skin.

Robert swallows a little convulsively, fighting not to get turned on by Joseph’s ministrations. “What about us?”

Joseph pauses, pulling back to meet Robert’s half-shuttered gaze. “What about us?” he parrots, looking genuinely confused.

“You didn’t think maybe I’d want to see you on Christmas?”

Joseph’s confusion only grows, pulling his stylized eyebrows down into a frown. “I have to be with my family on Christmas, Rob. My family’s going to be in Connecticut.”

Robert could hit him, he really could. “And what am I, then?”

“You’re….you’re my….”

“Side piece?”

Joseph looks aghast that Robert would even suggest it. Robert doesn’t think it’s all that far-fetched. “No, Rob, of course not! You’re my….,” he pauses again, cheeks pinking up. “You’re my guy.”

Robert gives him a smile, brushing his knuckles against the warmth blooming across his face. “I’m sure you’ve been real good this year, baby. We could have a lot of fun on Christmas.”

Joseph laughs, throaty like he gets when he’s trying to seduce Robert. Like he ever needs to try. “The day after, I promise. Oh Rob, come on,” he adds, catching Robert by the arms when he rolls his eyes and makes to step away. “I don’t think I’m being selfish here, okay? What would you have me do?”

“Have Christmas here,” Robert says immediately. “Tell your _ex-wife’s_ parents that she’s your _ex-wife_. I’m not saying we gotta pull some kind of awkward, pseudo-polyamorous Christmas with me, you, Mary, and the kids. I’m not even saying I expect to be brought in on family events like that yet. But I do expect to be treated like more than an afterthought, or a fucking addendum to your tidy little plans.”

Joseph shakes his head, though whether it’s in disagreement or disbelief, Robert isn’t sure.

“You know how important you are to me. I didn’t realize that was still an issue. But I’m not -“

“Ready,” Robert finishes for him, dully. “Got it.”

Joseph rakes a hand through his hair, sending it sticking up in every direction. “If I fought Mary on this, there’s a good chance I wouldn’t get to see my kids at all that day. Her parents will never accept the divorce. She’s just trying to have one more good Christmas before everything goes to shit.”

“Everything?”

“Don’t do that,” Joseph snaps, testy for the first time. “Don’t make it about us. This is about my kids. Of course I would chose to spend the day here if I could. Maybe you could even come over for a while. You know I’m not trying to hide you from my kids.”

That much, at least, is true. Joseph has never been anything but encouraging of Robert’s relationship with his children. Robert can’t doubt that, if they were around on Christmas, they’d be over for a visit at the very least. They can hardly go a day without seeing Betsy as is.

At the thought of the kids, and the sincere case Joseph plead for his unconventional plans, all the fight goes out of Robert.

“Okay,” he says, wrapping a hand around the back of Joseph’s neck and giving him a definitive kiss. “I love you. Let’s go to bed.”

“It’s barely 9 o’clock,” Joseph laughs, clearly surprised by the swift change in mood but not wanting to question it. He allows himself to be led from the kitchen, sparing a glance over his shoulder at the food spread across the counter. “We didn’t even put dinner away!”

“I didn’t say we were going to _sleep_ ,” Robert reminds him, pausing in front of the entry to the living room. Joseph runs into his back, steadying himself with hands at Robert’s waist. “Use those long arms of yours and snag that mistletoe.”

“I just hung that up,” Joseph pouts before catching the significant look Robert throws his way. “Ohhh.”

“It’s a good thing you’re so goddamn pretty,” Robert tells him, laughing all the way up the stairs while Joseph squawks his offense.

 

-x-

 

And so they go along, with no more mention of Christmas for the rest of the week. The kids spend Wednesday night at Mary’s place, and Robert nearly has Joseph convinced to skip Wednesday night service in favor of spending some more quality time with that mistletoe. Eventually, Joseph’s sense of duty outweighs Robert’s persuasive abilities, and Robert spends the hours that he’s gone wondering about the future. If Joseph will continue to attend services when he’s no longer leading them. If you’re even allowed to stay a part of the church you’ve been asked to step down from. If Joseph is ever going to be asked to step down because it doesn’t really look like he’s making any headway in his divorce.

Robert doesn’t want to let himself admit what a sucker he is, giving himself wholly over to this relationship again, even as it begins to resemble the last time; minus the actual affair part. But the secrecy is the same. The insecurity is the same. The stress and the strain and the suspicion is the same. Robert feels the goddamn same, and it’s something he never wanted to feel again. But Joseph makes him stupid, has always made him stupid and, god-willing, will always make him stupid.

It’s in the wake of this stupidity that Robert somehow finds himself at Joseph’s treasured Christmas Eve candlelight service later that week. He picks a spot in the back, right by the door, late enough that everyone has found a seat before he arrived and eliminated the need to make uncomfortable, inane smalltalk. They remember Robert from the almost-scandal of three years ago. He’s not their favorite person.

But he _is_ Joseph’s, evidenced by the way his face lights up when he catches sight of Robert, slouched low in his pew. Robert offers him a wry smile, shrugging helplessly. Joseph grins back for just a moment, open and more than a little self-satisfied, before adopting a more appropriate mien, clad as he is in his pastoral garb. Robert doesn’t take his eyes off him for a second as he leads the congregation through a surprisingly beautiful telling of the Christ-child’s birth, using songs and the strategic lighting of candles to aid the story, though he admits he loses the thread of the service soon after Joseph’s opening statement. It’s not just the voice; the booming, warm, jovial tone Robert has come to associate with Joseph in the pulpit. It’s the words themselves, though Robert supposes it’s a little blasphemous to twist them to apply to his own situation. He doesn’t think they’re actually biblical verbatim, so maybe he’s okay.

Joseph’s eyes twinkle in that trademark way of his as he looks out over his church. “Rejoice, for God is with us — Emmanuel,” he starts, and Robert’s obviously missed the assigned literature for the evening because he’s lost as the rest of the congregation reads out in unison:

 **“** In the darkness of our world shines God's holy light. **”**

“Now there is reason to hope, to love, to laugh, to live,” Joseph continues, and here’s where Robert loses him. The impact of those words is like a marquee, decked out in flashing, neon lights that scream ‘Exactly! You see it? Here’s what you’ve forgotten!’.

Because that’s what it is, really, when it’s all said and done. It’s not about who knows or where they spend holidays or how long it’s been since they started. What it all comes down to is Joseph. Joseph, who changed and persisted and sacrificed. Who shone his particular brand of holy light into the darkness of Robert’s world. Who is his reason to hope, and love, and laugh and live and whatever else it is Joseph just said. Who would probably be pretty unimpressed by the conflation of himself with Jesus Christ, but hey, Robert can’t help it if he sees his angel-faced partner as his own unique class of second coming.

The realization of it all has Robert surging to his feet, forgetting where he is for a moment, intent on conveying to Joseph just how big of an understanding this is. Thankfully, he’d chosen the exact moment the church is standing to sing yet another carol, hymnals clasped obediently in each of their hands. Joseph is giving Robert an odd look, clearly wondering why he’s decided to stand for this particular song, when he’s apparently missed all the others. Robert spares a thought for exactly how much he’s missed, given that there are several more candles lit than there were before, but he brushes it off, reaching almost sheepishly for his own hymnal, still resting in the pew back in front of him. He spends the rest of “O Little Town of Bethlehem” flipping uselessly through the pages, trying to find the right number. He really should have grabbed a program on the way in.

They transition almost seamlessly into “Away in a Manger” (Robert can’t find that one in the damn songbook, either), while the acolyte (Joseph would be proud of him for remembering that) lights the candle that’s apparently meant to represent Jesus. After the flametastic birth of the savior, the house lights, which were off when Robert arrived and have steadily come up throughout the service, burst into full life. Robert really has to hand it to them for nailing the symbolism.

In the relative brightness of the sanctuary, a couple of people in the surrounding pews have finally started to take notice of Robert’s presence. As Joseph continues to read through the story, Robert catches more than a few sidelong glances in his direction. He sinks back down into his seat, staying seated through the next few songs, but it doesn’t matter. He draws more than his share of attention when it comes time for communion.

As the deacons make their way around with the trays of bread and wine (i.e., juice and crackers because Protestants are a bunch of pansies. Robert remembers wine as the only good part of attending Mass as a child. He’ll get no such pleasure here.), Robert refuses both. He isn’t a part of their faith, and besides, it’s always made him a little queasy, all the talk of consuming blood and body. He thinks he’s plenty polite in the way he raises a hand and shakes his head, but like the twisting of the cap on a bottle of soda, a soft hiss of conversation spreads out from his row and makes its way forward. Robert watches Joseph’s easy smile fade to a concerned frown when he realizes the genesis of the whispering. He catches Robert’s eye meaningfully, and Robert gives him a terse nod. When the room has bowed its collective head in prayer over the bread, Robert stands up and slips out the door behind him, taking care to ease it back into place when really he just wants to let it bang shut.

It was that look again, the one Joseph sends him whenever things start to get a little too real for him. Whenever he can feel someone building up to The Question, whenever he can see them putting two and two together, whenever there’s just a slightly too-long pause in a conversation. The look that screams “deflect, defuse, desert!”. The look that douses that particular brand of holy light Robert was ready to cream himself over earlier. The look that tells him Joseph will never be ready for this.

Robert leans up against his truck for the duration of the service, chain smoking as the snow, a light but steady presence all day, starts to fall in earnest. When the doors to the church finally open and warm light and congregants come spilling out, there’s a murmur of appreciation for the wintery scene. Kids throw snowballs, shrieking with unique battlecries, before they’re ushered into their cars, everyone eager to get home and get their holiday underway. Joseph stands in the doorway, shaking hands and accepting hugs and giving laughter and good cheer away. Robert watches him over the cab of his truck, staying out of sight of the church members as best he can. He’d parked next to Joseph’s SUV, and they’re the only ones this far out in the lot, so no one seems to notice Robert at all, even with the veritable forest fire level of smoke he and his pack of cigarettes is putting out.

Finally, they’re the only two left in the parking lot. Joseph has his back to Robert, locking the doors of the church before making his way carefully across the slick pavement. Someone must have plowed, earlier, but they’ve gotten at least another three or four inches since the service began. Robert is finally understanding Val’s reluctance to make the drive up.

“You’re going to catch your death out here,” Joseph says quietly when he finally makes it to Robert’s side. He pulls a glove off to reach out and brush snow from Robert’s hair, curling his fingers around one of Robert’s cold ears. The last of the churchgoers have driven out of earshot, and it’s almost eerily quiet out, the snow muffling the noises of the already sleepy town. Robert’s steady exhalations of smoke sound harsh in the calm. He flicks the latest bud into the bed of his truck, tilting his chilly face into the palm of Joseph’s hand, looking up at him through snow-flecked eyelashes.

“Got my smokes to keep me warm,” he replies, matching Joseph’s hushed tone. He slips his gloveless hands into the open folds of Joseph’s peacoat, seeking his warmth. Joseph leans in, warm breath ghosting over Robert’s neck, making him shiver. “Got you to keep me warm.”

Joseph hums an agreement, stepping closer, letting Robert attempt to bundle himself right alongside him in his coat. Robert’s gotta look into getting something a little heavier than his trusty leather jacket. He’s only lived on the East Coast for half his life.

They can only stand there in the snow and the cold for so long, but Robert is loath to be the one to pull away first. Every peaceful moment they have makes him feel like he’s standing on a precipice; one wrong move and he’ll send them both over the edge into the unknown. So he just turns his head, face pressed up under the collar of Joseph’s preppy coat, arms crossed at the small of Joseph’s back, and holds on. Both of Joseph’s hands are in his hair now, the gloved one pulling static through the errant strands, probably causing them to stand straight up.

Joseph is the one to break the silence, in the end. “You didn’t have to leave, you know.”

Robert huffs a vapory breath, leaning back without releasing his hold. “Your eyes and your mouth need to get on the same page, then, cuz they were tellin’ me a whole different story.”

Joseph’s thumbs catch at the corners of Robert’s mouth, one cold and fleshy, the other soft and leathery. Robert bites the flesh and blood one, tasting leather anyway, left over from the glove he’d shoved in Robert’s back pocket. Joseph watches him, heart in his eyes like it always is, telling Robert things he’s yet to say out loud. There are a lot of things Joseph won’t say out loud.

“I’m sorry,” Joseph’s mouth tells him, never what Robert wants to hear. That’s not what he needs to hear. His own mouth twists into a facsimile of a smile, releasing Joseph’s thumb, saliva cooling quickly when Joseph drags it across his cheek. “It’s gotta get easier, at some point, right?”

“It’s probably gonna get a whole hell of a lot harder before that, baby,” Robert tells him honestly, squeezing his favorite spot at Joseph’s hips. There’s snow piling up on Joseph’s shoulders, melting on the bridge of his aquiline nose. The wetness is causing his perfectly styled hair to droop, is probably ruining the expensive leather of his loafers. That’s his fault though, really, because who wears loafers in the snow? Preppy preachers. Robert loves him. “Did anyone say anything to you?”

Joseph shrugs, too delicate to be nonchalant. “A couple people asked what brought you out tonight.” Robert imagines there was a little more skepticism behind the words, a little more censure and innuendo than Joseph is letting on, but Robert lets him shield him from the manner in which the questions were asked. Lets Joseph do his dad thing.

“What’d you tell ‘em?” Robert asks, genuinely curious.

Joseph smiles, running his hands down Robert’s back, pressing him closer. Robert marvels at how warm he still is, even though they’ve had to have been standing here at least 10 minutes by now. “The truth. I have no idea why you came.”

Robert stretches up to taste that smile, biting the chilled curve of Joseph’s lower lip a little before pulling back. “I need an excuse to want to see you?”

Joseph’s eyes had drifted shut during the brief kiss, and he keeps them closed now, brushing their noses together. “When you’ve explicitly told me that the only reason you ever came to services was to catch my eye, and now that you’ve got it, you never need to come back and quote ‘mingle with the pietistic masses’, then I think a little explanation is warranted.”

“I love you,” Robert says, by way of distraction, but Joseph is having none of it.

“Robbie,” he presses, the name he uses when he’s feeling particularly affectionate, the name he uses in place of….other words or phrases.

“I wanted to see you before you left,” Robert admits, letting Joseph pull an easy confession from him with just a word. “Seemed like my only shot.”

Joseph opens his eyes, searching Robert’s own with something akin to pity. “You saw me this morning,” he reminds, hiding a shiver in a squeeze of Robert’s shoulders.

“For like, a minute before you were off to Sunday school,” Robert complains, the bitterness from this morning rearing its ugly head. They had been so warm, tangled together beneath every blanket Robert owns, Joseph’s nose pressed to Robert’s hip in his favorite position, hidden from the glare of a harsh winter sun.

“And this afternoon,” Joseph continues, setting his teeth briefly against a fresh mark on Robert’s neck, another subtle reminder. “I’m only going to be gone _a day_ ,” he stresses, like he can’t believe he’s having to explain this again.

Robert doesn’t reply, hands finally snaking their way out from under Joseph’s coat, searching for another cigarette in his own. He lights it, and Joseph takes a step back, snagging his glove from Robert’s pocket as he goes and pulling it back on. It’s cold, all of a sudden, though Robert supposes it’s been cold all along.

“Speaking of,” Joseph says, when it’s clear Robert isn’t going to say anything, “I should probably head out.” He glances up at the still-falling snow, blinking it away irritatedly. “Before this gets any worse.”

“Ain’t much ‘worse’ to be had,” Robert grumbles, gesturing around. Both of their cars are reburied in fresh, white powder, despite the cleaning Joseph had given them this morning. And the one Robert had done, after their little afternoon delight. It’s likely they’ve gotten a foot of snow over the course of the day, the roads clearing only to immediately become dangerous again. The swirling orange light of a snowplow illuminates the snow around them for a moment, the scrape and slush drowning the sound of Robert’s measured in-and-exhalations. “You’ll be lucky if you make it by morning, I’d say.”

“It’s only two hours away,” Joseph argues, pulling back several layers of sleeve to glance at his watch. “It’s just after eight.”

“You know it’s not going to take you two hours to get there,” Robert argues. “The roads are junkin’ up faster’n they can clear ‘em. You’re gonna have to crawl, even in this tank.” He knocks the side of his boot against one of Joseph’s tires, dislodging some snow. He doesn’t voice his worry, doesn’t give any words of caution, because he doesn’t want to sound like he’s angling for Joseph to stay. That’s a fight he doesn’t care to repeat.

Joseph rubs his hands together, blowing on them, waving Robert away when he leans in to help. “Don’t wanna smell like smoke,” he mutters in response to Robert’s look.

Robert’s heart does a queer little flip in his chest before settling in the recently formed pit in his stomach. “Don’t wanna invite any questions about _why_ you smell like smoke, you mean.”

“Robert,” Joseph sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in a familiar move. “Can we not? Can’t you just….kiss me and wish me a good trip? I really need to get going.” He fixes Robert with an imploring look, posture patient and self-righteous and just very Joseph. He’s the only person Robert knows who can hold his shoulders in an admonishing manner.

“Have a good trip,” Robert says immediately, dutifully holding his cigarette out away from Joseph as he leans up to press a perfunctory kiss to the corner of his cool mouth. “Merry Christmas and all that shit.”

“Robert,” Joseph says again, a little consolatory, but Robert just turns away, grabbing a short-handled broom from the bed of his truck.

“Lemme clean your car, babe. You always get more snow on yourself than the ground. I don’t want you wet the whole drive.”

“It’s a little late for that,” Joseph says, but he steps aside anyway. Robert makes quick work of the monstrosity of a vehicle, the snow still fresh enough to sweep away like sand. “Remind me to buy you an actual window scraper,” Joseph adds, watching Robert stand on his toes to reach the top of the car.

“This works just fine,” Robert insists, talking around the cigarette still clamped in his teeth, tossing the old broom back in his truck. “You should have started this,” he adds, pulling Joseph’s door open and gesturing a little impatiently.

Joseph puts his hand over Robert’s on the handle, standing between Robert and the open door. “I can handle a little cold, honey.” His voice is almost apologetic. Too little, too late.

Robert just nods, turning his head so Joseph’s kiss finds his cheek. “Tell the kids I got shit for them when they get back. Well, probably don’t say shit. You’ll never get them to stop saying it once they start.”

Joseph catches his eye, surprised. “You didn’t have to get them anything, Rob. Not like that,” he rushes to say, recognizing the harsh scowl that settles on Robert’s face. “I mean, I got them a few things. For under the tree at the house. And I put our names on them,” he finishes, wind-chapped cheeks going redder.

Robert feels a rush a warmth, stepping up to give Joseph a real kiss this time, firm and open and just a touch emotional. It’s just the tree at the house, where only they can see, where only they know, but it’s still something. It’s their names, together, inked in Joseph’s prim little scrawl and out in the open and intended for the kids to see, to recognize them as a unit. It’s something. Joseph kisses him back, cold lips and warm tongue, just a little bit like reassurance.

“Okay,” Robert says, low and close to Joseph’s mouth. “I’m still giving them my shit. Because it’s probably better than whatever you got them, and if my name’s gonna be associated with lame shit, I gotta have something to redeem myself with.”

“I hate you,” Joseph laughs, pushing Robert back, sending him sliding on the slick asphalt.

Robert grins, tongue caught in his teeth. “I love you. Get goin’, before I change my mind about letting you go and warm up by pulling you into the backseat of that motel on wheels.”

“ _Letting_ me go,” Joseph mutters to himself, but he does as he’s told, climbing up behind the wheel and slamming the door.

“Be careful,” Robert adds after he’s started the engine. Joseph rolls down the window, leaning out so Robert can kiss him again. “Call me, when you get there.”

Joseph hesitates, a guilty look on his face, and Robert fights not to roll his eyes.

“I’ll text you,” Joseph offers instead, like it’s a compromise. Robert taps the side of the car, stepping back.

“Whichever.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Joseph promises, rolling up the window and easing out of his parking spot. Robert watches his taillights until they’re out of view, which takes for-freaking-ever with Joseph’s cautious pace. There’s no way he’s getting to Connecticut before sunrise.

With a sigh, Robert goes to work clearing off his own truck, trying to tamp down the unease he feels at Joseph’s departure. He’s a grown man, for god’s sake. He doesn’t need Robert worrying about him over a little snow.

 

-x-

 

Except maybe he really does, because the next thing Robert knows, he’s hitting his flashers, easing over to the side of the road where he can see the tail end of Joseph’s SUV sticking up out of the bank.

“Joseph!” Robert hollers, skidding a little when he jumps out of his truck before it’s even fully in park. He’s choking on his heart, moving as fast as he can to the edge of the embankment. He never should have let Joseph get in the car. He should have dragged him to his truck, dragged him home, kept him there until the road crews had had a little more time to work. He should have -

“I’m okay!” Joseph calls back, and Robert barely catches himself with a hand on Joseph’s car’s rear window. He’s choking on relief, now, peering down the slope to see Joseph standing in about two feet of snow, hands on his hips and sheepish expression on his face. “I’m an idiot, but I’m okay.”

“What the hell happened?” Robert asks, voice as shaky as his hands. Goddamn, he needs a cigarette.

Joseph shakes his head, kicking at his front tire. “Black ice. I wasn’t even going _that_ fast. I just can’t drive for shit, apparently.”

“Come here,” Robert says, and something in his tone must communicate the depth of his worry because Joseph doesn’t put up a fight. He reaches in for his keys, shutting the car off. Robert hadn’t even noticed it was still running, his only concern being Joseph. Joseph stops at the bottom of the ditch, head tipped back to meet Robert’s eye.

“I’m gonna bust my ass trying to get up there.”

“You could have busted your head on the way down,” Robert tells him, stretching a hand out as far as it’ll go, the other one braced against the car. “I got you, come on.”

Joseph reaches for him, planting a foot on the runner beneath the rear door and hoisting himself up towards Robert’s hand. Their fingers catch, and Robert twists his wrist around, securing his hold.

“On three,” he says, and Joseph nods, bouncing a little on his bent leg. Robert counts and then heaves, regretting, for maybe the third time in his life, all the times he’s rejected Craig Cahn’s offers to whip him into shape. Joseph is tall and broad and gorgeous, and Robert wouldn’t change a single hair on his head, but it might be nice to have a little extra bulk so he could haul those hairs, their 20 pounds of styling products, and the rest of his 6’4” boyfriend up a fucking ravine.

But muscle or no muscle, they get Joseph up the hill, sprawling in the dirty, wet snow at the edge of the road. They’re both breathing like they’ve run sprints up the hill instead of scrambling out of it once, though Robert assumes the adrenaline has a little something to do with it. He wraps his arms around the solid weight of Joseph on top of him, snow soaking into the seat of his pants, allowing himself one shuddery inhale against his shoulder before he rolls him off.

“Not that I don’t enjoy the position, baby, but we gotta get outta the road before the plow scrapes us off.”

Joseph laughs, sounding more shook up than before, taking the hand Robert offers to pull him to his feet. He plasters himself to Robert’s front once he’s upright, burying his face in his neck.

“Fuckin’ scared me,” Robert says, gripping the back of his neck meaningfully.

“Sorry,” Joseph replies, muffled against Robert’s jacket. “Fuckin’ scared me, too.”

Robert breathes a laugh, fingers still shaking even as he tangles them in Joseph’s collar. The goddamn snow is still swirling around, already coating Joseph’s wrecked car in a fine layer. The headlights from Robert’s truck almost seem dull through the blizzard, blinkers flashing rhythmically. They stand like that, holding onto each other, until another set of lights join Robert’s at the side of the road

“You guys all right?” a voice calls, nearly startling them apart. Robert turns his head to catch a glimpse of the cop car that’s stopped a few feet in front of his truck.

“Yeah,” Robert yells back, touching Joseph’s face to get him to meet his eye, checking. Joseph nods, and Robert nods back, releasing him to go talk to the cop at his open window. “Slid off the road.”

“And your….friend?” the officer hesitates, lifting his chin in Joseph’s direction. “He’s okay? Need me to radio an ambulance?”

Robert glances back towards his “friend”, questioning, but Joseph shakes his head. “Not even a scratch,” he promises, spreading his arms out like that proves anything. “You could maybe call me a tow truck, though?”

“My _partner_ is trying to get to Connecticut tonight,” Robert adds, pointedly. It’s almost sad, the little thrill he gets from calling Joseph that, even in front of someone as inconsequential as a random highway patrolman. He’ll probably be on a week-long high the first time he gets to say it in front of anyone important.

The officer grimaces, apologetic, though Robert isn’t sure what for. “Sorry boys, there’s no way you’re getting anyone out here that quick. There are more people in ditches than on the road tonight. It’ll be at least morning before someone can get to you.”

Joseph hangs his head with a weary sigh, kicking snow down the bank towards his car.

“Thanks for stopping,” Robert tells the cop, stepping back from the window to let him go.

He nods, a little watchful as Joseph comes to stand at Robert’s side, fingers curling around Robert’s wrist in a little unconscious gesture, seeking comfort.

“You need a ride home?” he asks, directing the question at both of them, and Robert smiles, a little.

“My truck is fine, thanks. We’ll go slow.”

The officer nods again, giving a little wave and a last piece of advice not to worry about turning the flashers on, it’ll only kill the battery and the SUV is far enough off the road for it not to matter, as he pulls back out on the road. Robert turns his hand around to catch Joseph’s fingers, pulling them to his mouth for a fleeting kiss.

“Any chance you could pull me outta there?” Joseph asks, resigned like he knows the answer.

“My truck is rear-wheel drive, sugar. It couldn’t pull the fruit out of a jello cup in this weather.” Robert gives him a kiss behind the ear, sorrier than he can say. But not sorry enough to quell the little thrill of relief he feels now that Joseph won’t be driving to Connecticut tonight.

Joseph nods again, letting himself be led and then bundled into Robert’s truck. The blast of heat when he opens the door is almost shocking against the frigid wind, and Robert offers a quick prayer of thanks to Joseph’s god that he’d been just a few minutes behind the younger man, so he wasn’t stranded in it for too long.

“Were you gonna call me?” Robert asks, once he’s come around to his own side. Joseph is sitting with his hands in front of him, fingers pressed to the vents. He’d lost his gloves at some point. “If I hadn’t happened along you?”

Joseph leans back against the seat, reaching for Robert’s hand again. Robert gives it, always easy. “I was waiting until I thought you’d be home,” he explains, softly. “I knew you’d answer even if you were driving, and I didn’t need both of us in a ditch tonight.”

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Robert says, and means it. Joseph gives him his hand back with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Let’s just get home, okay? We’ll figure the rest out later.”

 

-x-

 

Joseph is quiet on the drive home, turning on the radio as soon as they’ve eased back out on the road, finding a station playing Christmas music. Robert _lets_ him find the Christmas music station, in deference to the rough night he’s had. It’s magnanimous of him.

Joseph texts Mary on the way, but doesn’t share the details of the text with Robert. It doesn’t matter. Nothing Joseph could say would change the fact that he’s not gonna make it down there tonight. It’s probably too late to call the kids, who will have gone to bed without seeing their dad that night. Robert feels more than a little guilty for his earlier relief.

It takes the better part of an hour to go the five miles home. Robert’s back is tight and sore by the time they reach the cul-de-sac, fingers numb in their death grip around the steering wheel. Joseph is lucky, really, that he crashed in that ditch before someone could crash into him. There’s nothing but maniacs out tonight. Robert lets out a relieved sigh as he pulls up to the curb between his and Joseph’s house, not even attempting to make it up the Everest that is either of their driveways.

They sit in silence for a minute, soft music carrying on cheerfully in the background. At some point during the ride, Joseph had slid across the bench seat to press himself against Robert’s side, and now that he doesn’t have to hold the wheel for dear life, Robert slips an arm around his shoulders.

“Your place or mine?” Robert asks against the shell of his ear, aiming for levity, but Joseph goes a little tense.

“I left my overnight bag in my car,” he gasps, distressed. “Damn it, I had gifts in there for Mary’s parents!”

“They’ll understand,” Robert promises, shutting the truck off and fitting a hand around his door handle. “So my place?”

Joseph shakes his head, sliding out Robert’s door after him. It hasn’t gotten any warmer in the last hour. It hasn’t stopped snowing, either. It feels like it never will. “I’ll need to pack another bag. I might as well go home.”

Robert doesn’t miss the singular pronoun, hesitating at the bottom of Joseph’s driveway as Joseph forges ahead, arms out for balance.

“I’ll see you later, then?” Robert asks his retreating back, not bothering to disguise the frustrated note in his voice. Joseph pauses at the sidewalk, turning slowly back to face Robert. “How’re you gonna get up there in the morning?”

“I was actually kinda hoping you’d lend me your truck tonight?” Joseph asks, a little hesitant.

“No.”

“Robert -“

Robert shakes his head, unwilling to budge an inch on this one. “Were you not in that car just now? Did you not see how fucking terrible out it is? I’m not letting you back out there.”

Anger flashes across Joseph’s face, briefly, before he schools his expression into something more palatable. Robert hates when he does that. “That’s the second time you’ve said you would or wouldn’t ‘let me’ do something tonight,” he says, tightly.

Robert thinks back, tries to remember the first instance. “What, earlier? That was a joke, Joseph.”

“Someone says something often enough, you start to believe they mean it,” Joseph answers, obstinate. “Just because you’re older doesn’t make you the boss of this relationship, Robert.”

Robert laughs, incredulously. “Oh, believe me, sweetheart, I’m under no delusions about who’s the boss in this relationship.”

Joseph narrows his eyes, dark even in the light reflecting off the obscene amount of snow all around. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Robert shakes his head, feels it bubbling up again, the same fucking fight. He’s unwillingly to get into another fight in the middle of this fucking cul-de-sac. God knows they’ve enough of those to last a lifetime. They’re too keyed up from the accident, too raw and exposed. They’re going to say something they regret. “Nothin’. Say hi to the wife and in-laws for me, if you can figure out a way to do it without exposing us as the coupla queers we are.” _Like that._

He starts to stomp his way up the yard to his house, fists clenched at his sides, head hanging, but Joseph moves faster than is probably advisable in this weather, coming to block his path.

“I can’t -” he sputters, eyes shining, finally furious in the way that Robert feels all the fucking time, in a way Robert doesn’t even feel bad for causing. “I cannot believe you’d even say that, let alone think it.”

“Why not?” Robert hisses back, still cognizant of where they are. “What else am I supposed to think, Joseph? I’m sick of trying to figure out what your fucking hold up is. You tell me it’s not about Mary, that you aren’t cooling your heels because you’re still in love with her. You tell me it ain’t about the kids, that they love me and I love them and that’s all hunky dory. You tell me it ain’t this or that or the other thing, but it’s gotta be fucking _something_ because we are still here, still hiding, still playing fucking keepaway with the truth with everyone we know. You don’t even want me in your house tonight. It’s gotta be something, and if it ain’t because you’re ashamed to be in -”  _love with me_ , his brain supplies, but Robert shies away from saying it. Because Joseph has never said it, and Robert can’t bear having Joseph tell him he’s wrong for assuming it. “To be in a relationship with another man, then I’m out of fucking ideas.” He pauses for breath, ignoring the flayed-open look on Joseph’s face. “That’s all that’s left, unless it’s just me that you’re ashamed of, which,” Robert lets out a self-deprecating little laugh, can’t believe he hadn’t considered it before, “which actually makes a lot of sense.”

Joseph seizes his arm, suddenly, grip painfully tight. “Stop,” he commands, a note of steel in his voice. “Just stop, okay?” He doesn’t say anything else, just stands there, holding onto Robert’s arm. Robert tests his hold after a minute, just to feel the fingers press down into muscle. There’ll probably be a bruise. “It _was_ about you, but not like that,” Joseph says, finally, so hushed that Robert almost doesn’t catch it.

And, _ah_ , there it is. The bottom he’d been waiting to fall out, the precipice he’d been trying to avoid, the sudden drop and inevitable splat. He wishes, inanely, that it weren’t snowing. He doesn’t want anything to cushion the blow, needs to feel every excruciating inch of this, because if he doesn’t he might be willing to subject himself to it again, and the softness of the snow at his feet makes it too easy to fall into. He needs sharp rocks at the bottom, not mounds of soft white powder. Joseph’s grip on his arm keeps him from just lying flat out in the yard, anyway, so maybe it doesn’t matter after all.

“Right,” Robert hears himself say, in a voice that doesn’t belong to him. Joseph flinches at the sound of it, pretty face twisted painfully. “Thanks for finally telling me. I’m just gonna,” he gestures vaguely in the direction of his house, tries to pull free from Joseph, but he won’t let go.

“I said not like that, Robert, please,” Joseph begs, catching Robert’s other arm and holding him in front of him, desperately trying to meet his eye. “Just listen to me, okay? Come inside and listen.” He begins to pull Robert up his own walkway, always keeping one hand on him, even as he fumbles his key into the lock and swings the door open. The warmth of the house doesn’t even register as Robert allows himself to be guided into the immaculate living room. Four kids and a dog and there isn’t a single thing out of place. Robert thinks of the mess in his own house, how it’s the perfect reflection of his life, and can’t believe he didn’t see sooner that the problem was him the entire time.

Joseph deposits him on the couch, stepping away to pull off his overcoat, lighting the fire with the press of a button. Robert has always hated gas fireplaces, but they sure are goddamn convenient, especially on nights like this.

Joseph takes the seat next to him, takes his hands in both of his, and Robert lets him. He’d let Joseph do anything, always, really, which is why he was really counting on that big washout at the bottom. He needed some sense knocked into him.

“I’m scared,” Joseph says, like it’s revelatory rather than the world’s worst kept secret. Robert bites his tongue against the _no shit_. “I’m scared you’re going to wake up one day and realize you’ve made a mistake. That you’ve gotten yourself into something you don’t need or want and then….you’re going to be gone. I know you never wanted more kids, and suddenly with me, you’d have four. I know you want something simple and easy, but I’m always going to be a goddamn complicated mess, and I’m scared you’re going to get tired of dealing with it. And I know,” he says, not letting Robert interrupt, “I know you told me that you wanted the mess and the drama and the process, but saying it is different from living it, and I’m scared. I’m scared I’m going to take a match to my entire life, and you’re, like, going to get mad I didn’t use it to light your cigarette and then you’re just going to be gone.”

Robert takes a breath, small and tight. “That….makes no fucking sense.”

“I’m not great with metaphors or whatever it is!” Joseph cries, a little hysterical. “But you’re so great, you’ve been so amazing, and I just keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. I keep putting off telling people because that’s the point of no return for me, you know? You could walk away with your life relatively unchanged but I….I’d have lost everything. Mostly you, but all that other bullshit too, Rob, and I’m just….scared,” he finishes lamely, not looking at Robert.

Robert slides a hand down one of Joseph’s tense thighs, fingers curling around his fucking boney knee. “We’re a couple of idiots, you know that?”

Joseph looks at him then, a strange tightness that doesn’t sit well on his youthful face. Robert laughs, once, pressing the back of his hand against his mouth to stem the rest, knowing he won’t be able to stop, once he starts.

Robert thinks about all the ultimatums he’d given Joseph. All the times he’d said, in essence, ‘do it my way or I’m gone’. No wonder the guy didn’t feel confident in his commitment. Robert is such an idiot.

“I’m an idiot. We’re both fucking idiots. We’ve both spent the last six months waiting for the sky to fall, when we could have just been fucking happy,” Robert goes on, watching the realization dawning in Joseph’s eyes. “I thought you were….doing or not doing all this because you wanted to be able to make a quick escape. Because you didn’t want to give things up, and I know they’re big things, babe, and I didn’t even really blame you. But I woke up every morning, expecting you to be gone, to have realized how much fucking _better_ you could do, how much easier it could all be.”

“Never,” Joseph says, in an instant, with the utmost conviction, “Rob, I could _never_ -”

“Me neither,” Robert interrupts, fingers pressing down into the flesh above Joseph’s kneecap. “In my entire life, I’ve never done anything to deserve you. Or your little termites.” He shakes his head, thinking about Joseph’s passel of kids. “I don’t want anyone else’s kids, Joe, never met any other than Val who I wanted to make the effort for, but I _want_ yours, okay? I want you and I want them, and not just because they come in the package deal with you. I could take or leave the dog, but mostly because he hates me. I like dogs, as a general rule.”

“He hates me, too,” Joseph says, voice tight with unspilled emotion. “I’ll bear the brunt of his wrath for you.” He tilts his head, bringing their foreheads together, exhaling a shaky breath against Robert’s mouth. “I’m so sorry I made you feel like you didn’t have me.”

“Ditto,” Robert whispers, making Joseph laugh. “You’ve got me, for as long as you’ll have me.”

“Forever, then,” Joseph says, firmly, like he expects Robert to argue. And Robert loves to argue, that much is true. But he’s never going to fight Joseph on that.

He kisses Joseph rather than reply, trying to communicate every ounce of worry and tension and heartache from the last few months, trying to show him what he means to Robert, what it means to finally have all of this out in the fucking open. How full his heart feels, now, like the fucking grinch, a story he knows well, from the 500 times Joseph’s kids have made him watch it this season.

Joseph’s kids….

“I’ll take you to Connecticut in the morning,” he promises against Joseph’s mouth, tasting the small sound he makes. “I’ll drop you at the door, around the corner, down the fucking chimney, whatever you want.”

“Robbie,” Joseph laughs, still refusing to break the kiss. “I can drive myself.”

Robert makes a protesting noise, fisting a hand in Joseph’s hair to tip his head back. “You’re never driving in snow again for as long as I live. If you’d gotten so much as a broken nail tonight, I might have killed myself.”

Joseph’s gaze is a little too self-satisfied for Robert’s comfort before he says, “I might have bruised my shoulder against the door, a little.”

Robert gasps dramatically, pulling another laugh from Joseph. “Show me,” he demands, not waiting for Joseph to fight with his sweater. He grabs the hem, yanking it up and off, but carefully, avoiding straining either shoulder. There’s an angry red mark obscuring Joseph’s tattooed shoulder, edges already purpling. Robert presses a finger to it, just the wrong side of gentle, wanting to hear Joseph’s sharp intake of breath.

“Rob,” Joseph says, voice deeper than a moment ago. His undershirt is rucked up beneath his armpits thanks to Robert’s rough handling, exposing his stomach and chest. Robert presses the thumb of his free hand to one pert nipple, watching how it darkens as it hardens, from a dusty pink to a dull reddish. Distracted from the bruise for now, Robert follows his thumb with his mouth, teeth latching onto the small nub. Joseph’s never been particularly sensitive here, but Robert lavishes attention anyway, enjoying the smell of his skin, the firmness of his pectoral muscle. “Rob, let’s go upstairs.”

“What’s the matter?” Robert asks, teasing the nipple with the flick of his tongue, smiling at the sight of Joseph’s cherry red cheeks, “Afraid Santa’s gonna come down and catch us at it?”

Joseph’s eyes cut to the fireplace, and for a wild second, Robert worries if that’s really the issue. But Joseph looks back at him with a smug little smile, which Robert returns. “Lord knows you don’t need to give him any more reason to put you on the naughty list,” Joseph teases back, hands on Robert’s shoulders, not quite discouraging.

“Because you’re such a saint,” Robert deadpans, glancing significantly at the tented fabric of Joseph’s slacks. He reaches out to touch, but Joseph catches his hand.

“Robert, my kids aren’t here.”

“Oh shit,” Robert says, immediately chastised. “I’m sorry, baby, I know you’re broke up about missing Christmas Eve with them, I shouldn’t have -”

“Robert,” Joseph says again, with a different intonation. “My kids aren’t home.”

Robert makes a face at him, wondering if he really did hit his head in that accident. “I know, hun, I just said -”

“Robert,” Joseph tries once more, sounding amused. “My kids aren’t home. We’re in my house, at night, alone, for the first time. And you wanna settle for handjobs on the couch?”

Robert’s eyebrows hit his hairline, and Joseph laughs, soft and sweet and so beautiful. “Oh shit,” Robert repeats, sitting up a little straighter. “Your kids aren’t home.”

“My kids aren’t home,” Joseph confirms.

“We’re fucking in front of the fire,” Robert decides, on the spot.

Joseph looks at him like maybe Robert’s the one with brain damage. “We have never spent the night in my bed, in my house. My kids are always here, and now you -”

Robert waves him off, eager to plead his case. “We’ve got the rest of our lives to have boring, coupley sex in bed while the kids sleep down the hall. How many chances are we gonna get to do it on the rug in front of the roaring fire in the living room? Without the chance of one of the rugrats themselves making an appearance?”

Joseph looks a little dazed, and Robert realizes he casually threw out the ‘rest of our lives’ thing, but Joseph had said something similar earlier, so he doesn’t think it’s crossing a line. It looks like a good kind of dazed, anyway, the kind that makes Robert lean in to kiss him again.

“Blanket?” Robert asks, a few minutes later, pressed to Joseph’s collar bone now that he’s freed him from that pesky undershirt. He’s missing his pants too at this point. Robert works fast.

“What?” Joseph pants back, fingers fumbling with the buckle on Robert’s belt. They’re standing in front of the fireplace, so the disrobing is as practical as it is sensual. The thing is damn hot.

Robert waves a hand at the floor, quickly wrapping it back around Joseph’s hipbone. “For the floor, a blanket? A coat or like a, placemat or….,” Robert trails off as Joseph finally gets a hand into the open fly of Robert’s pants, sans any kind of underwear (Joseph makes his usual low noise of approval), palm sliding over crisp hair to curl around the base of Robert’s dick.

“I told you we should go upstairs,” Joseph says, without conviction, swallowing the low noise Robert makes against his tongue. “There’s a bed, plenty of blankets, _lube_ ,” he adds, pointedly, giving Robert a dry tug for emphasis. Robert follows the motion, going up on his toes with a groan. Joseph catches him around the waist with his other arm, keeping him elevated, keeping them on eye-level as they trade increasingly sloppy kisses.

“What, no bottles stashed between the couch cushions?” Robert teases, pressing his lips to the wrinkles next to Joseph’s eye as he laughs.

“You’re thinking about your house, you barbarian,” Joseph tells him, hooking a hand behind the knee Robert’s secured around his hip, holding him at just the right angle to bring their erections into full contact. “The only thing you’re going to find in those cushions is Iron Man.”

“It was Batman last time, wasn’t it?” Robert grits out, head tipped back, Joseph’s mouth at the line of his throat. He finds a newer bruise there, puts his teeth to it, and Robert digs his fingers into the mark on Joseph’s shoulder in retaliation.

Joseph doesn’t answer, but Robert never really expected him to. Robert traces a finger around Joseph’s tattoo, eyes closed, the lines long memorized. He opens his hand, palm flat against the muscle, knowing just how high up he needs to go to get their tattoos to align. Joseph is breathing shallowly against his neck, holding Robert close, as close as they can get in this position, but it’s not enough. There is never such a thing as too close, even with a blazing fire at their backs, making any kind of proximity almost unbearably hot. There’s sweat under Robert’s hand, sweat against Joseph’s tongue, sweat slicking the movements of Robert’s hips against Joseph’s. Robert kisses him anyway, tasting salt and the ever-present trace of peppermint in Joseph’s mouth.

“When did you even have time for another damn candy cane?” Robert says on a laugh, tongue at the roof of Joseph’s mouth, making it more than a little difficult for Joseph to answer. He does his best, anyway.

Joseph sucks on his tongue for a moment, biting the tip when Robert eases up. “I have those little….mints? The sweet stripes. In my pocket, actually, if you wanted -” He moves like he’s going to go get his coat, and Robert grapples with his sweat-slicked skin, keeping him close.

“I don’t want a mint, psycho.”

Joseph smiles, heady, tongue between his teeth and so much everything that Robert wants. He has to shut his eyes, block him out for a minute, just to keep his head on straight.

“We need some things,” Robert says when he reopens them, fixing Joseph with his best stern look. “Before we do anything else.”

“Things,” Joseph agrees, still smiling, still beautiful.

“We’re not a coupla randy teenagers. We’re adults. We can hit pause for a second,” Robert continues, not sure who he’s trying to convince.

“Adults pause,” Joseph confirms with a solemn little nod. He’s still smiling. The fire makes his skin glow. He’s ethereal.

Robert physically can’t keep himself from touching him, trailing a hand over his chest. “We just had sex this afternoon, it’s not like we’re too hard up to wait a goddamn minute.”

“We had sex this afternoon,” Joseph repeats, and now with the fire behind him, he bears more of a resemblance to the devil. His smile is downright wicked when he leans in and sinks his teeth into the oft tortured mark on Robert’s neck. No preamble, just a sharp bloom of pain.

Robert pushes a palm against his face, gasping out an injured laugh. “Go get the shit, you fucking menace.”

Joseph pulls him into a punishing kiss, all teasing set aside; just an honest to god _kiss_ , Robert’s head tilted back, arms around Joseph’s neck, back bowed in deference to Joseph’s height. He kisses Robert like he means it, until Robert’s head is swimming with it, then he steps away.

“Don’t move,” Joseph demands, voice dark and rough as a storm, but his eyes are calm and bright. All Robert wants is him.

“I got nowhere else to be.”

Joseph smiles, eyes flicking over Robert’s body briefly before he tears himself away. Robert listens as he hurries up the stairs, long legs taking them two or more at a time. Then he moves, but only a little. He kicks their clothes and shoes away where they’ve pooled in front of the hearth, setting up plenty of space to get a little athletic with it. He finds the little remote for the fire, dialing it down at couple notches. He appreciates the aesthetic, sure, but he has no real desire to sweat to death tonight. Sweaty sex is hot on camera. It’s just gross in real life.

Robert looks around, trying to decide what to do next. He assumes Joseph is grabbing everything, but he knows there are blankets in the ottoman. He could get one out, but what they really need is the comforter off Joseph’s bed. “Baby? Grab your bedspread, yeah?” Robert calls, scrunching his face up as he waits for the reply. Joseph hadn’t seemed like he was in a mood to take orders, but there are some things that are just necessary to facilitate the optimal experience.

“Don’t move!” comes Joseph’s response. Helpful.

Robert steps around until he thinks he’s back to where he was, approximately. He links his fingers behind his back, rolling his shoulders, still feeling the strain of that long drive home. He’s not looking forward to the trip down to Mary’s parents tomorrow. He takes a second to wonder how that’ll go before he decides it doesn’t matter. They’ve addressed their problems. They’re working on their shit. He’s not going to worry about what a couple of backward-thinking, irrelevant senior citizens know of his relationship. Though they’ll probably be a part of his life here pretty soon, Robert realizes with a frown. They’ll be invited to birthday parties and swim meets and first grade graduations, same as he will. They’ll see him with Joseph, and if Mary got any of her limitless gumption from either of them, he’ll probably catch an earful about it.

 _Joseph’s worth it_ , he reminds himself, shifting restlessly. _He’s worth anything._

Including this fucking interminable wait. Seconds have ticked by into minutes, well past an appropriate amount. Robert shifts again, knees getting stiff where he’s been standing with them locked. “Joseph?” he calls out for him again, a mix of impatient and maybe just slightly worried.

“Do not move!” Joseph yells back, all impatience.

“I’m old! I can’t stand up this long, I might die!” Robert heaves a put upon sigh, shifting his weight. He considers getting a hand around his flagging cock, let Joseph catch him touching himself when he finally deigns to grace Robert with his presence, but figures that would probably be considered moving, and he’s not really in a hurry to get Joseph mad at him again.

There are thunderous footsteps on the stairs, more like a herd of cattle than one normal-sized man, and Robert sees years of living through the entire Christiansen clan bringing the house down around his ears every time they need to grab something from upstairs. There are three boys, all of whom are taller than any other kid their age. Both of their parents are tall. They’re gonna be monsters.

“You are,” Joseph begins, coming back into view around the half-wall that separates the hall and the living room, “the most dramatic person I know.”

“You were gone so long, I’m pretty sure it’s next year already,” Robert counters, eyes widening at the size of the comforter Joseph’s dragging behind him. They could have used that thing to cover all of Massachusetts and avoid the whole snowy debacle altogether. “You get a new bed or something?” He steps aside when Joseph lays a gentle hand on his hip, letting the younger man spread the duvet on the floor at their feet.

The tips of Joseph’s ears are a little red, and he rubs at them, glancing up at Robert where he’s knelt down, folding the bedspread under on one end to create a makeshift pillow of sorts. “Kind of? I moved back into the master.” He shrugs, that same little delicate one from before. “I figured it was time, y’know? And there’s more room in there for….more stuff, if you ever wanted to, I don’t know.” The blush deepens, staining his neck and shoulders an endearing red. “If you ever wanted to leave some things here. When you start staying over.” He looks back up at Robert, the hesitation in his eyes something Robert resolves to erase. Permanently.

Joseph gives a little yelp of surprise when Robert tackles him back against the impossibly soft comforter, careful to avoid cracking his head on the mantle. “You better watch out,” Robert tells him, trailing kisses over every exposed inch of Joseph’s torso, “you let me get too comfortable here, and I’ll never leave.”

“I think I can live with that,” Joseph says, a little breathless. For all his dominant posturing earlier, he lets Robert bear him down into the plush fabric beneath them, tipping his head up to meet Robert’s kiss, shifting to wrap both arms around his neck, both legs around his waist. “I can’t live one more minute without you inside me, though, so get on it.”

“Jesus,” Robert breathes, always taken aback by Joseph’s bold mouth in bed. “We got a couple steps between here and there, baby, have some patience.”

“Nope,” Joseph says, lip popping. “I got a head start.” He takes one of Robert’s hands, guiding it down to the cleft of his ass, encouraging the gentle probe of fingers at his slick entrance. “You take too long with this,” he explains, interpreting Robert’s wide eyed look correctly. “It’s good, it’s amazing, sometimes, but right now I just want you. Now,” he adds, directing their still-joined hands to Robert’s dick, back to full hardness at the image of Joseph upstairs, prepping himself while Robert waited in the living room.

It’s not like Robert’s ever gonna say no to that. “You bring the bottle with you?” he manages to croak, mostly guttural noise when Joseph’s fingers tighten, an amazing squeeze-twist-pull thing he’s so goddamn good at. Joseph, the dexterous young man that he is, manages to find the discarded bottle in the bedspread and press it into Robert’s free hand without ever losing his grip. Robert lets the warm lube drip over Joseph’s curled fingers, lets him spread it the length of Robert’s cock, only knocking his hand away when it all gets to be a little too much. “You’re sure you’re ready?” Robert checks, running his hands down Joseph’s long, slim legs, hitching them back up around his hips.

“Always,” Joseph says, lifting his hips to meet Robert halfway as he presses in, warm and smooth and so fucking welcoming it’s hard to wrap his mind around. “You don’t have to go easy, I can take it, I can -”

“We’re doing this on the floor in front of the fire on Christmas Eve,” Robert interrupts him, slowing his descent as much as he can stand to. “I thought you were more a romantic than that, Jesus, Joe. We’re gonna take this slow and sweet and so fucking cheesy.” He leans in, eyes fluttering at the feeling of Joseph’s body bowing to accommodate him, presses easy kisses to Joseph’s slack mouth. “We’re making fucking love, baby. Get used to it.”

Joseph lets out a low groan, but he doesn’t protest any further. He wraps his arms around Robert’s neck, keeping him close, kissing him, soft and tender, while Robert slips out only to ease back in, as slow and sweet as he promised. The fire crackles merrily, the perfect accompaniment to their synchronized breathing. A bead of sweat rolls its way over Joseph’s perfect brow, and Robert chases it with his tongue, follows the path down his face to his jaw, kissing up under the hinge. Joseph’s hands trace lazy patterns against the heated skin of Robert’s back. It’s so fucking tender that Robert almost can’t stand it, almost ruins it with a sharp thrust or a perfectly placed bite, but he pulls away enough to catch the look on Joseph’s face and shores up his resolve. Joseph’s eyes are closed, face so peaceful it’d be easy to believe he was asleep, if not for the occasional grimace of pleasure that crosses his features when Robert hits it just right. His mouth is open, and he’s panting quietly, peppermint-scented breath ghosting over Robert’s own mouth, encouraging him to taste.

Robert doesn’t do sentiment, doesn’t get all mushy and poignant, but if he did, he knows that all manners of ridiculously soppy things would be spilling from his mouth as he rocks into Joseph, gently twisting his hips at the deepest point, kissing Joseph’s soft sounds from his lips. He’d tell him all the things he’s thought, about the realization he came to in church earlier, about how Joseph is his life and his hope, how he lights his world and makes him laugh. But Robert’s never been good at that sort of thing; neither of them are, really, so he settles for pressing words of love into Joseph’s skin. Joseph is the only person he’s ever been so liberal with that word before, the only person he’s ever felt expressly compelled to say it to, and so he says it. He says it often and he’s saying it now, over and over against Joseph’s mouth and nose and eyelids and hairline.

“Robbie,” Joseph says back, and Robert thinks it’s his own little confession. “Robbie, please.”

“I love you,” Robert tells him again, shifting his weight onto one hand, reaching out to touch Joseph with the other. Joseph keens, arching into the touch, still saying Robert’s name. “I got you, come on.”

It’s slow, and it’s soft, and it’s so fucking sweet, but it’s also so good. Joseph spills in Robert’s hand, shaking but not swearing, recognizing the moment calls for a little more reverence. Robert follows him less than a heartbeat later, hands on Joseph’s face, eyes locked on Joseph’s eyes. It’s intense and a little bit ridiculous, but it’s good. It’s the kind of reassurance they both needed tonight, and Robert feels lighter than he has in months as he rolls off to Joseph’s side, head lolling against Joseph’s bruised shoulder. Joseph turns his head, buries his face in Robert’s hair, breathes in. Somewhere in the pile of clothing to their left, Joseph’s watch beeps.

Joseph gives a little hum, reaching to pull the far edge of the comforter over them, sliding down Robert’s prone body until he can press his nose to Robert’s hip, completely hidden beneath the blanket. “Merry Christmas,” he says, muffled and sleepy, lips raising goosebumps against the sensitive flesh.

Robert lets out a gusty sigh, fingers trailing through the sweaty hair at the nape of Joseph’s neck. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

 

-x-

 

“F-9?”

“Oh fu-, I mean, hit.”

Christian cheers, loud enough to pull the other kids’ attention away from whatever game they’re playing with Joseph, something involving decorating the cookies he’d just pulled from the oven a few minutes ago. They trade faces across the room, though Joseph mostly just grins at Robert. Robert winks at him.

“That was your last ship, wasn’t it?” Christian asks, something akin to gleeful.

“Sure was,” Robert sighs, sticking a red peg in his last ship a little mournfully. God, he sucks at this. 

“You suck at this,” Christian tells him, a confirmation.  
  
Robert points a finger at him, clipper ship still in hand. “I’m gonna win the next one, you watch.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Christian taunts, all little boy bravado. He’s too damn cute for his own good, blue eyes sparkling just like his daddy’s as he sets his board back up.  
  
“Yeah, I think so,” Robert pretends to muse, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “I really do.”  
  
“How come?” Christian asks, a suspicious little squint on his angular face.  
  
“Because...,” Robert drawls, slow and maddening, smiling when Christian makes a circular motion with his hand, prompting him. He got _that_ from Mary. “I’m thinkin’, that if I win, I might be excited enough to forget to tell your daddy that you just used the ‘suck’ word.” Robert sits back with a shrug, trying not to laugh at the thunderstruck look on Christian’s face. “Maybe.”  
  
“You know,” Christian says, scrambling to rearrange his board. “I’ve never tried to play this with all my ships lined up _right_ next to each other....”  
  
Robert does laugh, then, reaching out to tousle Christian’s fine, blonde hair. “You’re a smart man, baby.”

“He gets that from me,” Joseph joins in, coming to stand at Robert’s shoulder. He brushes his knuckles across Robert’s jaw when he looks up at him.

“You’re the smartest man I know,” Robert confirms, all sickly sweet charm. “And you know why that is, right, Christian?”

Christian pretends to think for a moment, hiding a giggle behind his hands. “Because he picked you.”

“Damn straight,” Robert says, reaching across the table for a high five. “Give the boy a prize.”

Joseph smacks his shoulder lightly for the curse, giving Christian a look that says Robert is not to be emulated.

It’s all very domestic, the whole scene. It’s something Robert would have been terrified of, years ago. A night in on New Year’s Eve, watching some kid-friendly version of the countdown, playing board games and eating cookies in their fucking pajamas, for god’s sake.

Robert’s never been without plans for New Year’s, but they’re usually of the less wholesome sort. He’s actually spent quite a few of them with Mary, down at Jim and Kim’s. He hasn’t been to the bar in weeks, now. He’s probably losing all his clout.

Robert had been planning to spend another New Year’s at the dingy little dive bar, honestly, figuring Joseph and the kids would have plans that included turning in before midnight. But then Joseph had turned those big, guileless eyes on him about halfway through their crack-of-Christmas-morning-dawn drive to Connecticut.

“I was thinking,” he’d hedged, all nervous energy and tic-y fingers. “Maybe we could do New Year’s Eve? With the kids?”

Robert had glanced over, surprised, before focusing back on the road. It was less snowy, sure, but no less slick, and Robert had stuck to his guns about not giving Joseph free rein behind the wheel again.

“You got big plans?” he’d asked, trying to seem interested without being over eager. Which was stupid, Joseph knew how eager Robert was for every minute of his time he could get. Old habits die hard.

Joseph had smiled, sliding closer on the bench seat, just like the night before, head coming to rest on Robert’s shoulder. “Big for a five year old, maybe. We were gonna play games and bake things, and watch movies and eat popcorn in our pajamas.” He shrugged, a little sheepish. “Small potatoes to a wild man like you, but I just -“

“It sounds great,” Robert said, because it did. It sounded….perfect. It sounded like effort on Joseph’s part. It sounded like family, and Robert was slowly becoming accustomed to the idea that they _were_ a family, he and Joseph and Joseph’s million kids. Or at least on their way. This seemed like a great next step. “You’re gonna have to loan me some p.j.’s, though. You know what I sleep in.” He’d waggled his tongue at Joseph, suggestively, and Joseph had sighed, but Robert heard the laugh behind it.

Robert had let the warmth of the invitation carry him through the rest of Christmas; through dropping Joseph off at his in-laws and quickly pulling away, sending Joseph inside with a story about a “friend” who was on their way down anyway and had offered Joseph a ride. He’d ended up seeing Joseph and the kids the next morning, for pancakes and presents that had been left at home.

And now they were here, crowded around the kitchen and dining room tables, traipsing back and forth between the two for snacks and peeks at the T.V. on the kitchen wall, checking how much time is left before midnight. Eventually, they retire to the living room, bringing obscene amounts of popcorn with them. Robert settles on the loveseat, Crish on his knee, trying to help him force more candy into the Darth Vader pez dispenser he’d gotten for Christmas. Why he can’t just eat the candy straight from the packaging instead of from the thing’s oversized head is beyond Robert, but he learned a long time ago not to question little kid logic.

“What made you want this one?” he asks instead, pulling the head up to expose the little tray, watching Crish painstakingly load each individual piece of candy into it. “Isn’t he the bad guy?”

“How do you not know whether or not _Darth Vader_ is a bad guy?” Chris pipes up from the couch, making the incredulous face he usually reserves for Robert and his woeful lack of knowledge. “Have you never seen the movies?”

“It’s been a long time,” Robert admits, moving Crish’s tiny fingers out of the way before he slides the toy closed. “We’ll have to have a marathon, how about that? See what this Darth Vader guy is all about.”

Chris sits up, eyes bright and enthusiastic. “I think that’s a good plan. Maybe tomorrow?” he checks, glancing over at Joseph by the door. Joseph nods, smiling encouragingly, and Chris nods back, satisfied. He accepts the bowl of popcorn his dad hands him, the intensity of his concentration on not spilling making Robert’s heart feel tight.

“Dark Vader is cool,” Crish whispers, conspiratorially, pulling Robert’s attention back to him and answering his earlier question. Robert winks at him, and he giggles, jumping down to go and sit with his other siblings, sharing his candy without prompting. Robert shakes his head, secret little smile on his face. He loves those fucking kids.

Joseph has been watching him, openly, from across the room throughout the entire exchange. He grins when Robert catches him, coming over to sit entirely too close on the admittedly small couch. 

“You look hot in my pajamas,” he confesses, unprompted, low and dirty in Robert’s ear. “I don’t know why I don’t make you wear them more often.”  
  
“Probably because I look hotter in my pajamas,” Robert leers, sticking his tongue out a little crudely and a lot inappropriate, considering how many kids are in this room.  
  
Joseph gives him a considering look, eyes lingering on the way the sleeves of his pajama top fall past Robert’s fingers. “There’s something to be said for leaving a little to the imagination.”  
  
Robert snorts a laugh, inelegant. “You know that’s something virgins say. Because they’re not gettin’ any. And they’re trying to make themselves feel better about not gettin’ any.”  
  
“Are you calling me a virgin?” Joseph asks, amusement coloring the edges of his words.  
  
“If the chastity belt fits....,” Robert trails off, tracing a finger up Joseph’s inner thigh.  
  
Joseph catches his hand with a stern look. “Do I need to remind you that I have four children?” He glances pointedly around the room, squeezing Robert’s hand. “I’m hardly a virgin.”  
  
Robert waves the hand still caught in Joseph’s grasp, dismissive. “Technicality.”  
  
“I had your dick in my mouth this morning.”  
  
Robert’s answering grin is downright wicked. “Ah, he’s got a point there.”

“You look hot when you’re being nice to my kids,” Joseph continues, giving Robert a glancing kiss to the cheek. It’s all very PG.

“I can do hot in my sleep. I’m a hot person.”

Joseph narrows his eyes, like he’s trying to remember where he’s heard that. “That’s a quote and I know it, but for the sake of peace, I’m just going to agree.”

“You’re hotter babe, don’t worry.” Robert gives him a wink this time, more lascivious than the others.

Joseph rolls his eyes, settling back against the couch under Robert’s arm. “This is a very intellectually stimulating conversation.”

Robert leans his head back, turning to watch Joseph’s profile as he watches his kids. They’re trying to throw popcorn in each other’s mouths, giggling too hard to have anything close to success. Robert knows this place is going to be an unholy mess in the morning, but Joseph doesn’t seem concerned. He’s just smiling, relaxed and just happy. He seems so happy.

“You seem happy,” Robert’s saying before he realizes it, grimacing a little self-consciously when Joseph looks at him. “I’m happy,” he adds, before Joseph can say anything.

“You make me happy,” Joseph answers, cheeks pinking up ever so slightly.

Robert hums, leaning in to press his lips to Joseph’s heated face. “That’s cuz I love ya.”

Joseph holds his gaze, going serious in a way Robert hadn’t intended. They just look at each other for a while, Joseph’s eyes steady, Robert’s a little more curious. Eventually, Joseph reaches out to run his thumb over Robert’s bottom lip, pressing down for just a second.

“I know,” he says, finally, the ghost of a smile on his face. “I know you do.”

Robert releases the breath he’d been holding, blowing out the certainty he’d felt that this time, maybe….

“Hey, I think it’s almost midnight!” Christie shouts, suddenly, more excited than Robert thinks her age warrants. What do kids care about the new year? Every year feels the same when you’re that young. Of course, every year felt the same for him for a long, _long_ time, too. Just an endless string of work and booze and misery.

Robert looks at Joseph, thanking every lucky star, thanking Joseph’s god, for him. For his coming along, lifting Robert out of the fog he’d been in for too long. Giving him….a life. A meaningful one, anyway. Giving him a reason to be excited for a new year and everything that’s going to come along with it.

The countdown clock on the T.V. is flashing less than a minute, and the kids are scrambling around, collecting their noisemakers. Crish has a pot, Robert’s idea. Robert always banged a pot at midnight as a kid. He’s glad he’s passing the tradition along.

Joseph stands up, too, turning around to offer Robert his hand. Robert smacks him away, stretching his legs out in front of him. “I’m too old for noisemakers, Joe.”

“Are you too old to get kissed at midnight?” Joseph asks, unimpressed. Robert sits up a little straighter, suddenly interested.

“You gonna give me one, in front of the kids?”

“If you stand up! I’m doing this right.” Joseph offers his hand again, a little more aggressively. Robert takes it, noting the ease with which Joseph hauls him up. Definitely a lot easier than Robert pulled him out of that ditch. Fucking Craig and his exercise plans.

“How dirty can I get with this kiss?” Robert teases, glancing at the clock. 30 seconds, now.

Joseph tugs him over to the front door, where the kids are eagerly poised, coats on, ready to burst out on the snowy lawn to inflict their earsplitting merrymakers on the rest of the cul-de-sac.

“If you kiss someone at midnight, they’re the person you’ll be kissing at midnight next year,” Joseph says, quietly, in Robert’s ear. “You really wanna risk not doing it?”

“I didn’t think preachers were allowed to be superstitious,” Robert whispers back, eyes on the clock as it starts counting down from 10. The kids are chanting along, even Crish, who doesn’t really have a handle on counting up, let alone back. His enthusiasm makes up for what he doesn’t know.

Joseph ducks his head down, nose at Robert’s temple. “Maybe I just really want to kiss you.”

“I ain’t gonna argue with that.”

“Three, two, one, happy new year!” the kids cry, just as Joseph leans in to kiss Robert, true and firm. Robert slings an arm around his neck, holding him close, prompting a different sort of cry from the kids.

“Hey, keep it down will ya?” Robert mock scolds, glaring at them over Joseph’s shoulder. “I’m trying to kiss your pops over here.”

Joseph laughs, hiding his face in Robert’s neck before the kids grab onto their hands, pulling them apart and towards the door.

“Would you come on?” Christian fusses, tugging sharply on Joseph’s arm. “It’s already past midnight! We gotta get out there.”

Robert scoops Crish up as the other kids tumble out the door, handing him his pot and a spoon, pressing a kiss to his downy soft hair.

Out on the porch, the kids jump around, hollering about the new year and blowing into their noisemakers, oblivious to the fact that it’s cold as all hell. Crish struggles out of Robert’s hold to join them, and Joseph steps up to take his place in Robert’s arms, a spot of warmth all along his side.

Around the cul-de-sac, other doors are opening, other kids spilling out into the cold air. Joseph’s kids beg to run over to Craig’s, where his girls are turning somersaults in the dense snow. Joseph cups his hands around his mouth, calling out to Craig to ask if it’s all right, breath fogging in front of them. Craig waves them over, jovial as ever, but Robert can almost feel the way his eyes linger on him and Joseph, holding each other on Joseph’s porch.

Other neighbors yell greetings and good wishes, which Joseph returns. Robert just waves, but he knows he’s going to have to face their questions about him and Joseph, sooner rather than later now. This is as public as they’ve ever been, even if it’s just in their little corner of the world. He’s honestly welcoming it, all of it. It’s been a long damn time coming.

He turns his face into Joseph’s neck, kissing up under his jaw, feeling the hint of stubble at the end of a long day. “Freaking out yet? We’re drawin’ a lot of attention over here.”

Joseph glances around quickly before looking back down at Robert, fingers flexing almost compulsively where they’re wrapped around Robert’s small waist. “You still gonna kiss me next year if I am?”

Robert holds his eyes, letting Joseph see how much he means it. “Planning on doin’ it every day in between, too, if you’re up for it.”

Joseph bites his lip, pretending to consider it for all of a moment. “I think I can live with it.”

Robert tilts his chin up, and Joseph takes what he’s offering, kissing him in full view of the whole damn cul-de-sac. Robert can hear Joseph’s kids groaning from all the way across the street, and he grins against Joseph’s already smiling mouth. It’s gonna be a good year.

**Author's Note:**

> bless everyone who messages me on tumblr with prompts and encouragements. i hope you like this. there's a post for it here [x](https://knotsandknives.tumblr.com/post/169170647790/all-is-calm-all-is-bright-all-i-want-is-you), and that's my roseph blog as well. feel free to come hang out!


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